I Waited

I waited for hours. I waited all last night and through today and still he didn't come.

Now the sun has gone down again and I can hear the whores on 4th street calling to men as they drive by and I'm waiting still. Will I have another nigh of waiting?

It is a hot night, my skin is damp with sweat and my top and shorts stick to my skin. I can smell the old mattress I am laying on. It smells of old sweat and cum. In the corner, my single tap drips into the chipped stained sink. In the corner is the pail I use as a toilet. It is covered by a board so it doesn't stink. And by the light of the single bulb that hangs from the ceiling I can see the paint peeling on the old brick walls and my one dress and two tops hanging from an overhead pipe.

Will he come tonight? He promised me he would, but I've been lied to before. I don't know why he wouldn't come, he knows that I know and he knows that there is only one sure way to buy my silence. He's done what I ask of him before and I know he's done it well. He only leaves happy customers.

The tap keeps dripping and the whores keep calling and laughing. I have that option I suppose, but that life makes me more depressed than I already am. To be a whore, to lose myself in meth and rent my mouth to strangers until death takes me. But it would be a slow death... a cold death without intensity. Just a slow miserable winding down of life, ended alone, huddled under a filthy blanket, shivering from dope sickness until my heart flutters and stops. I've seen that kind of death before; Friends of my mother, even my own friends, teens with ravaged faces and bodies emaciating as the meth eats them alive from the inside.

Three girls in the barrio that were my age hanged themselves last week. One of them was a friend of mine; Juanita. She was happy the second to last time I saw her. Juan Carlos had told her to pack and get ready to leave that morning, that he was going to a job in Houston and together they would make a new life.

Juan and Juanita - a cute couple name.

But then Juan was late picking her up... very late. Then Juanita found out that Juan had left without her, telling a friend that he planned to find a white girl who liked long Latino cock.

So she hanged herself in her little room beside her packed bag. I saw her from the doorway, her body sagging and loose.

We all have choices in this life. That's what the Priest said last Sunday. Sure, we have choices, and if you are born to a family up the hill in a big house with proper rooms and bank accounts and food every day, those choices must seem limitless. But if you are born here, and live here - no, not live; survive here until you are old enough to choose ... what choices do you then have? To be a whore? To shack up with some wanna-be gangster and get pregnant over and over so you can collect enough welfare to get by?

I hear the thumping bass of a lowrider as it rumbles down the alley and I gasp softly as the curtain that is my door flutters. But it is only the wind teasing me. He's not coming. He has better things to do with his time than to be with me. What worth am I to him?

But he promised. I made him promise.

I close my eyes and listen to the barrio. I would rather listen to music. I used to have a radio, but someone took it. You can't keep nice things when all you have is a curtain for a door. So I listen to the discordant music of the streets outside my old crumbling brick home.

I wake up to angry voices down the alley and the sound of someone running past my door. The footsteps recede and the potential danger has passed, so I close my eyes again.

And dream. I dream he comes and we do the thing I asked of him. It is heaven. A relief and a joy and ecstasy all in one, just like he promised.

I open my eyes and at first I think I am still dreaming because he is standing in my doorway holding the curtain aside. But I lift my head and shoulders off the mattress and prop myself up on my elbows and he doesn't disappear like dreams do.

"Hey girl." he says with his easy smile, "You were sleeping."

"You came." I say softly.

"I said I would."

"You said last night"

"Is that what we're going to do? Argue?"

"No."

"I'm here now."

"Yes you are. Like you promised."

"Yeah." he says and slips inside, letting the curtain drop behind him. He walks toward the mattress, his body moving more than it has to. He has a dancer's body, lean and tight, with fluid movements that make, you think he's having sex just by walking.

He stands over the mattress, looking down at me. I feel like he is examining me, seeing if I am worth his time. After a moment he turns and sits on the edge of the mattress, looking at me, his eyes lingering on the mounds my breasts make under my t-shirt.

"You sure you want this? Pretty girl like you?"

I shrug; "I'm not so pretty. But yes I want this."

"But are you sure you're ready for it?"

I nod; "I think so."

"No ‘I think so'. I can't have any screaming."

"I won't scream."

"I've heard that before."

"I won't scream."

He draws his knife from the sheath on his belt and gently lays it on my belly.

I stare at it. It is wide and long and it shines. The blade is perfect, like a mirror.

"It's heavier than I thought." I say.

"Yeah." he says, pulling off his shoes and unbuckling his belt. He lays back, lifting his butt to slide his jeans off over his tight ass, his shoulders pressing down on my thighs. I feel his weight. This contact - this solid contact - makes it all real. Makes him feel real to me.

He sits back up and pulls his tank top over his head and drops it on his jeans on the floor. He is in his underwear now, their whiteness pure against his tanned body. His muscles are like leather straps under his smooth skin.

He swings his dancer's legs around and lays down on the mattress beside me, leaning his head into the palm of his left hand, his elbow on the bed. He smiles at me.

"Last chance - are you really ready for this?"

I nod.

He glances down at my t-shirt and my shorts then back up to my eyes.

"Then what are you waiting for?" And he picks up his knife and sets it between us on the mattress.

I lift my bum and hook my thumbs in the waistband of my shorts and peel them down over my thighs, kicking them off once they're past my knees. They land on the foot of the mattress. I cross my arms and grasp the hem of my t-shirt and pull it up over my head. I toss it over him to land on the floor.

I reach for my panties, but he stops me.

"I'll get those." he says as he pulls them down my legs which I lift so he can take them all the way off. I lower my legs and wait. I want to cover up, but I realize that is stupid. It doesn't matter that I am naked in front of him. It doesn't matter that I'm anything.

He looks my body up and down as though he is savouring the sight.

"Such a waste, girl."

I shrug.

"It's going to hurt." he says softly.

"I know." and my voice is weak and breathy. Something flutters in my belly. An excitement. And my limbs suddenly feel weak.

"'Bate." he says.

"Huh?"

"Rub one out. Masturbate. It's better if it happens when you're cumming."

I stare at him, not sure if he's serious. He takes my left hand and moves it to my crotch, making me cup myself as he lowers his head and takes my right nipple in his mouth. He sucks and flicks the tip with his tongue at the same time and I feel the tingling rush from my nipple right to the pit of my crotch. I start massaging my sex with my fingertips.

"That's it girl. Think sexy thoughts. Think how good it's going to feel." he leans over me and takes my left nipple in his mouth, sucking and flicking. He has a talented tongue.

"Did you make all the girls do this?"

"Mm-hmm" he nods, mouth full of nipple.

"Did they all cum?"

He lifts his head, kissing his way back to my right nipple.

"Almost all."

He takes my right nipple in his mouth again and sucks hard. I can't help it; I let out a little quivery sound, like a whimper.

"Did my sister cum?"

His lips make a popping sound as he pulls up off my nipple; "Like a hurricane."

"Did she scream?"

"No. Well, a little. But not loud."

I feel a rush of tingles as shiver-bumps wash over my thighs, bum, belly, and breasts. My memory of the sounds I heard my sister make that night changes. I thought her desperate grunts and cries were him doing her, but now I realize she was cumming. Her grunted swearing wasn't just pain, it was pleasure as well. The thought makes me feel better about what she let him do to her and makes me feel better about letting him do it to me too.

"You let me know when you're getting close." he murmurs as he nuzzles my right ear.

"m'kay" I murmur, my fingers working faster between my thighs. I'm starting to feel it. Not close yet, but more than halfway. I'm staring to crave something inside me. The handle of my hairbrush is what I usually use, and I think about reaching for it, but that would complicate things. I keep rubbing.

Masturbating always relieves my depression, so I'm feeling better already. And it's starting to make me feel like I'm participating in this, which is good, I suppose. I envisioned me just laying here while he worked on me, so - yeah, this is better.

"Arch your back."

"Huh?"

"Arch your back. More. Yeah, like that. Now push your belly out. That's it. That's the way I want you to be when you start to cum."

I let my body come back to rest on the mattress, going back to working my sex. But he isn't finished with instructions.

"Now lift your bum. Yeah. Slide your right hand under your bum. No, palm down. Yeah. Now let your bum down again."

I trap my right hand under my bum like he wants, but I am looking at him and I guess I looked puzzled.

"You're getting close, baby." he says, tonguing my right nipple, "I don't want you to do something stupid."

He wants both my hands busy so I don't try to stop it at the last minute.

I feel the faint stirrings of my orgasm awakening. It starts deep in my sex, a tingling and a throb. If I had something inside me right now I would be cumming within a minute, but I know he doesn't do that. "I'm not a rapist." he'd told me before, "If I fucked them, they'd think I was a rapist."

Fine. He's not a rapist.

"Work it, baby."

I keep working it. He helps by tonguing and sucking my nipples, one then the other. He nibbles them, then nuzzles my ear, nibbling the lobe, breathing into my ear - his breath hot and gentle. And it's working. I'm feeling tingles all over now and the throb inside me is pulsing with my heartbeat. Sweat beads and trickles down my sides, my thighs, my face.

"You getting close?"

"Yeah." my voice is breathless and thready. My orgasm is building but I'm afraid of it. I keep trying to push it away. Why am I afraid? This is what I want, right?

I look around at the room I live in, my meager clothing that is dirty and stained no matter how hard I wash them, at the paint peeling off the concrete. I listen to the outside, to the screams and cruel laughter, to the whores, the swearing, the rough living around me.

But in here it is only the occasional sound of his voice and my own quivering breaths, and I swear to god there will be no screams in my room tonight.

So, yes; This is what I want.

"Who was your first?" I whisper, studying his face so close to mine.

"My what?"

"The first girl you did. Who was it?"

He looks into my eyes, a small worry line between his black eyebrows.

"My cousin." he says at last and the worry line fades.

"She wanted it?"

"Yeah. She begged me." he says, idly tracing circles around my right nipple, "She wanted release. Release she called it. Release from everything, from how she lived, from her nightmares, from her depression, from my Uncle who beat her and raped her."

"When you did it ... she was ..."

"'Bating? Cumming?"

"Yeah."

"Yes. That was a release too."

I shudder as a strong orgasmic wave rolls through my lower belly and I hear myself moan. My toes curl and I squeeze my thighs closed on my fingers.

"Oh, Chiquita, you're so close." he whispers as he moves on the mattress, pressing his body against mine, his belly against my side. He lays his right hand over my left and curls my hand downward between my thighs.

"Dig deep, baby. Dig those fingers deep." he says as he shifts lower on the mattress, slipping his left arm under my back, pulling me tight to him, lifting my back and stretching my belly out. I feel that there is something in his left hand. I turn to try to see.

"Never mind, baby. That's for after." he whispers, "I'll take care of you. I promise it will be good."

My fingers slither between my thighs, over and inside my sex, slick with own oiliness. My sex is so soft, so slick, and my clit is a hard ball that feels like it's throbbing. I want him to mount me, to fuck me hard, to slam himself inside me. But I know he won't.

He slips his right leg over both of mine and hooks his calf behind my thighs, pulling me tight to him, squeezing my thighs together with my hand trapped there.

I realize I am holding my breath for long moments, then panting desperately. It's like a cycle; Hold, hold, hold, gasp and pant. My body is shaking now and I can't help but finger myself faster. I am craving my orgasm, but I'm still afraid of it. I feel his right hand slide between us and when it comes back up I feel the cold steel slide across my skin.

"You're close?"

"... so close ..." I gasp, feeling frantic, feeling desperate. Scared. It's coming too fast.

"Arch your back now, Chiquita."

I hear myself whine; "I ... can't"

"Yes you can, baby. You can do this."

I arch my back and push my belly out and the action tugs at my sex. I moan. He pulls harder with his left arm, lifting me more, making it easier for me to keep my back arched.

"Come on, baby. You're so close now." he murmurs, "Reach for it. Make it happen. Give it up, girl."

I whimper, my fingers moving like squirming snakes inside me, my crotch slimy and hot. Things are happening too fast. I feel the tip of the knife touch my mound just above my public bone. He holds it there, loose and light. I lift my head and look down; He is holding the blade backward. The sharp edge is facing upward. I let my head flop down again.

He's going to cut me bad.

His left arm and right leg squeeze me to him, anchoring us together, stretching out my belly. He presses the tip of the knife into me, dimpling my skin. I jerk in surprise, thinking he is starting, but he is only teasing me, teasing my orgasm along.

My bladder is throbbing now.

"... have to pee ..." I gasp. It comes out as a whimper, like a little girl.

"Shhhh. No, baby. It doesn't matter anymore. Nothing matters anymore." he whispers in my ear, "When it starts, just let it all go. Let everything go."

I remember Juanita, half squatting on her floor. She'd pissed herself as she hanged. I need to be like her, to let it all go.

Suddenly I feel the familiar sweet cramping in my lower belly, I try to hold it off but I can't. It's building inside the cradle of my pelvis and there is nothing I can do to stop it. Even if I pulled my fingers out of myself right now I know my orgasm would come relentlessly and this one is going to an explosion.

"It's happening!" I cry out, louder than I intended. I arch my back more and push my belly out, making it large and soft. I feel my sex squeeze my fingers tight and then I am cumming.

Hard.

My body is jerking and I squirm in his tight embrace. Under my bum, the fingers of my right hand dig into the mattress and I feel it rip. I feel my anus tighten, my breasts tingling like electricity. I hear an animal whining like a cat makes in heat and I realize it is me. As my orgasm rises fast I feel the pressure increase against my lower belly, then the sharp bite of his knife. So much pressure. Too much.

And suddenly the pressure is gone and I feel the cold steel sliding deep into my belly. I want to scream but my lungs won't work because my stomach heaves like I might throw up. It is sliding and sliding and sliding deep into tender flesh. It is a presence like a cock inside me, but colder and harder. I grunt as my shoulders and head lift and I feel the hilt press tight to my belly.

I should be overwhelmed by the pain, but the blade has found something deep within me that I didn't know was there. It is an intense feeling, turning my throbbing orgasm into a sharp one. My entire core comes alive with intense pleasure. I feel my bowels squirming inside my belly.

I remember the ecstasy of Saint Teresa from Catholic school and how we girls giggled about the saint who was stabbed in the belly by an angel's spear. We made jokes about penises and aroused virgins. But I am not giggling now. This is serious. This is the ecstasy Teresa felt. I have found it. He is delivering it to me.

My orgasm is so strong and so prolonged that I can't breath. My ears ring and I completely lose control of my body. I throw my head back and try to breath, but I can't. All my muscles are clenched tight and quivering. I have a friend who has epilepsy and has bad seizures. This is what I must look like; having an orgasmic seizure with a knife in my belly.

Then he starts to work the blade. I feel it moving sensually inside me, sliding in and out like he is making love to me with it. I hear myself straining and grunting and I feel it working upward toward my belly button. And as it travels, the bands of clenched muscles across my lower belly let go, one by one, and I feel myself opening. And inside I feel my bowels squirming, writhing, coming alive from the attack on my soft inner flesh.

I draw in a shuddering breath.

"...oh-god-oh-god-oh-god-oh-god ..." I groan as he saws me open, and I realize that I have pulled both my hands free. My left is gripping the edge of the mattress so tight I can hear my knuckles popping and my right is clenched tight on his hip. And still the knife is moving inside me, transiting my long belly. And still my orgasm rages on inside me.

And as he works me, I feel him humping my hip. His pelvis is curling, rubbing his hard long cock against me.

"Oh, Chiquita." I hear him gasp and his body shudders. I never knew something like this could be so sexual. For me and for him. He whimpers as he cums.

The knife splits my belly button and my lower belly opens wide like a mouth. It is too much. I feel myself pissing. It gushes from me, spraying my thighs. I feel gorge rising in my gullet, but I manage to swallow it back down.

And just when I wonder how long this ecstasy can go on, the world spins and grows dim, then dark.

I awaken and I know I am broken. Ruined. My belly feels loose and open and I feel so frail. I am shivering. I feel cold. I feel very bad. I open my eyes and stare up at the ugly bare light bulb hanging from its cord. It is so bright that it hurts.

He is no longer holding me. I feel abandoned, left alone on my mattress, broken and scared. I want to cry.

But a shadow blocks the light of the bulb.

"Here, chiquita. Breathe deep through your nose." his voice is gentle, caring. He presses something against my upper lip. I breathe deep through my nose and feel a sudden warm rush.

"... madre de dios ..." I gasp weakly. I feel everything loosen and all pain cold is gone. I feel my sex and my anus relax and open. It is not an orgasm, but it feels so good.

"Here, baby." he says and I feel him press it into my right hand. It's a little bottle with the cap gone. He props my arm up so my hand is near my mouth.

"Just keep breathing it, chiquita. Keep sniffing it."

And I do, and each time the pleasure comes. The warmth, the loosening, the opening. It is like a pleasant dream. I feel my bowels churn inside me and it is a sweet feeling. And like he said I should, I let it all go and I feel the flow spread on the mattress under my bum and between my thighs.

My vision is blurry, but I can see he is getting dressed. He is leaving me now. But it's okay, I have the little bottle and I have release like his cousin. Like my sister.

I waited for hours for him to come like he promised. And now I only have to wait a little longer.